#EnglishWriters
Silk Embroidery. Lo silken my garden, and silken my sky, And silken my apple-boughs hanging on high;
So swift the hours are moving Unto the time unproved: Farewell my love unloving, Farewell my love beloved! What! are we not glad-hearted?
The King has asked of his son so… “Why art thou hushed and heavy of… O fair it is to ride abroad. Thou playest not, and thou laughes… All thy good game is clean forgot.…
It was a knight of the southern la… Rode forth upon the way When the birds sang sweet on eithe… About the middle of the May. But when he came to the lily-close…
The doomed ship drives on helpless… All that the mariners may do is do… And death is left for men to gaze… While side by side two friends sit… Friends once, foes once, and now b…
TRANSLATED FROM THE DAN… Hellelil sitteth in bower there, None knows my grief but God alone… And seweth at the seam so fair, I never wail my sorrow to any othe…
Our hands have met, our lips have… Our souls - who knows when the win… How light souls drift mid longings… If thou forget’st, can I forget The time that was not long ago?
She wavered, stopped and turned, m… The deep grey windows of her heart… Methought they softened with a new… To note in mine unspoken miseries, And as a prayer from out my heart…
Love gives every gift whereby we l… “Love takes every gift, and nothin… Love unlocks the lips that else we… “Love locks up the lips whence all… Love makes clear the eyes that els…
There were four of us about that b… The mass-priest knelt at the side, I and his mother stood at the head… Over his feet lay the bride; We were quite sure that he was dea…
There was a lord that hight Malte… Among great lords he was right gre… On poor folk trod he like the dirt… None but God might do him hurt. Deus est Deus pauperum.
Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, In haste and hurry to be there, Nought seem its leaves and blossom… For all that they be fashioned fai… But looking up, at last we see
Of Heaven or Hell I have no powe… I cannot ease the burden of your f… Or make quick-coming death a littl… Or bring again the pleasure of pas… Nor for my words shall ye forget y…
I KNOW a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.
In an English Castle in Poictou.… John Curzon Of those three prisoners, that bef… We took down at St. John’s hard b… Two are good masons; we have tools…
